Once a Conman, Always a Conman
by TJ-TeeJay
Summary: Neal has an unexpected mishap in the office and Peter tries to save the day as best as possible. PG-13, Gen.


**Title:** Once a Conman, Always a Conman**  
Author:** TeeJay  
**Written for:** kriadydragon over at collarcorner on LiveJournal for Round 2 of the Prompt Fest  
**Prompt/Request:** Humiliation  
**Would Like:** A story in which Neal is humiliated in a way that really isn't funny, and Peter or someone else comes to his defense. A little hurt would be nice but not a must. Lots of comfort would be great.  
**Don't Want:** A lot of humor (a little is fine, because I do enjoy banter, but I don't want this story to be a humorous story). Neal's humiliation being his own fault. Peter (or whoever) defending Neal only to turn around and tease him about the incident when no one is looking.  
**Genre:** Gen  
**Characters:** Neal, Peter, Hughes, OMC  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Neal has an unexpected mishap in the office and Peter tries to save the day as best as possible.  
**Author's Note:** I hope this fits the bill. The humiliation isn't so much Neal's fault as more the universe's fault, but, hey, whatever works, right? This hasn't been beta'ed. If you find any mistakes, keep them. :-P (No, actually, I'd like to know so that I can fix 'em.)  
**Disclaimer: **White Collar, its characters and its settings belong to Jeff Eastin and USA Network. And, guys? Your characters are not only welcome, they're wonderful. I'm just borrowing, I promise.

* * *

Neal had looked pale all morning, and Peter had only just noticed enough to push it to the back of his mind where it had stayed. Until now.

Hughes had given them both the double finger point, and Neal and Peter had obeyed. They had gathered in the conference room that was already occupied by one Agent Miller. Neal had noticed Peter acting more intimidated than usual, so Neal figured it must be some bigwig from higher up than even Hughes.

Looking at Neal sitting opposite him, Peter zoned out for a moment as Hughes and Miller tried to brief them on the case they wanted to get Neal involved in. His brow creased in worry at the beads of sweat on Neal's forehead. His gaze seemed miles away, and he looked more uncomfortable than Peter had ever seen him.

"Caffrey?" Hughes' booming voice sounded, and it made Peter snap back to the conversation at hand.

Neal's eyes focused on Hughes, but much too slowly.

"Sir?" Neal asked, his voice strained.

"Caffrey, are you paying attention at all?" It was then that Hughes also noticed that Neal didn't quite look like his normal self. "Are you all right?"

"I'm sorry, I—"

That was as far as Neal got. Like a bat out of hell, he jumped up and ran for the nearest trashcan in the corner of the room next to the glass door, emptying his stomach contents into it.

Peter's first thought was,_ 'Uh oh,'_ at the raised eyebrow he got from Miller and the disgusted look from Hughes. This was not good.

He got up from his chair and went over to where Neal was kneeling on the floor, suddenly unsure what to do. He waited a moment for Neal to stop retching, nervously looking through the door to see if anyone had noticed.

Of course they had. Curious gazes were already directed at the conference room, and Peter cursed the exposition that these damn glass doors inherited. He shifted his position slightly so that the view of Neal was blocked by his body.

The quietly hissed, "Shit," from Neal got Peter's attention.

"Can you make it to the bathroom?" he asked.

"Not sure," Neal said in a feeble voice.

"Do you wanna try?"

"Yeah," Neal replied, getting to his feet on shaky legs. Peter fought the impulse to steady him, and Neal's defensive gesture told Peter that he better not try to escort Neal through the bullpen. This was already humiliating enough.

He watched as Neal made his way down the stairs and towards the restrooms. He turned around to give Hughes and Miller an apologetic look, shrugging his shoulders helplessly.

Miller quipped, "Some CI you've got there. That was certainly a grand entrance if I ever saw one. I'm going to try not to take that personally."

Peter mentally congratulated the man for at least maintaining a sense of humor about the whole thing. "Let me assure you, that's not usually his style," Peter tried to save the situation.

Looking down at the trashcan, he made a quick decision. He took it and carried it out of the room towards the restrooms. Unfortunately, his path took him right through the heart of the bullpen, under the prying eyes of his team and the other agents.

And sure enough, all eyes were on him as he carried the offending object in front of him. He could hear a few whispered voices, and he could practically feel the mocking gazes boring into his skull. The snicker he heard from somewhere behind him finally did it.

Peter turned around and looked at the culprit. He shook his head. Another one of those cocky fresh-out-of-Quantico hotshots who thought they knew everything. "What, never seen anyone be sick before, Zimmerman? One more comment from you and I'll make you clean out the trashcan."

Zimmerman looked suddenly stricken, his face stoic. "Sorry, sir."

Peter just gave him a curt nod and proceeded on his way. He was sure people would be giggling behind his back at Neal's expense, and he tried not to think about it.

Inside the restroom, it wasn't hard to figure out which stall Neal was in. The continuous retching gave him away easily.

Peter was silently thankful that he hadn't had lunch yet, because emptying the trashcan's contents into the toilet bowl wasn't exactly enticing. He almost regretted having grabbed the damn thing in the first place. But then again, with Miller in there, it wasn't as if he'd had much of a choice.

The sinks were small and awkward to rinse a trashcan in, and Peter contemplated just throwing it away. Maybe that'd actually be the smart thing to do.

Having cleaned it enough to not make it an olfactory hazard, he put it down on the floor and listened. Whatever Neal had ingested that hadn't agreed with him seemed to have finished the process of returning to the outside world.

Hesitating another moment, Peter knocked on the stall's door. "Neal? Are you okay?"

His voice sounded strained, but it was a definite Caffrey quip. "Don't you think that's kind of a stupid question, seeing how I just puked my breakfast into a trashcan in front of the bosses?"

Peter couldn't help but smile. "Definitely not one of your best moves."

He heard the sound of toilet paper being ripped from the roll and then the toilet flushing. A very pallid looking Neal emerged a moment later, staggering towards the sink.

Peter watched him splash water in his face and rinse his mouth. Once he had dried off his face with one of the scratchy paper towels, Neal looked over at Peter. "I don't suppose you could invent a time machine so we could go back to the moment before we entered the conference room?"

Peter gave him a lopsided smile. "I think Mozzie might be a better candidate to help out on that one." He took a step towards Neal. "Come on, let's get you home."

"Peter, I'm fine. Whatever it was that didn't sit right, it's come out. I can do this."

Peter gave him one of his don't-bullshit-me looks. "You look like hell."

"Thanks," Neal retorted.

"I'm serious. You're going home. No more work for you today."

Even though Neal tried to hide it, Peter could see the relief flooding Neal's features. As they approached the restroom door, Neal turned around. "You don't suppose anyone else saw that, did they?"

Peter tried not to let his voice and expression betray what he'd been witness to in the bullpen earlier. "Nah. I'm sure no one noticed."

Peter wasn't sure if the relief that crossed Neal's features was genuine or just another mask crafted to make Peter believe in the illusion. He wouldn't put it past Neal, even after the near disaster he'd just witnessed. Once a conman, always a conman.


End file.
